


The Werewolf of Zero

by FergardStratoavis



Category: Hellsing, ゼロの使い魔 | Zero no Tsukaima | The Familiar of Zero
Genre: Gen, Plot Derailment Effective Immediately, Staff Of Destruction Irrelevant, Used to be a one-shot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-15
Updated: 2019-10-27
Packaged: 2019-11-18 18:00:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18124619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FergardStratoavis/pseuds/FergardStratoavis
Summary: A summon that is not immediately bound to become Louise's familiar? Perhaps that is wise, for the summon is a vile creature of terrible power. Even if repentant and willing to make amends for the past life, the locals of Helkeginia regard it with understandable suspicion. It is up to The Captain to prove himself - and, perhaps, make peace with his own soul.





	1. Der Werwolf

This couldn’t be happening.

Louise stood in the middle of the summoning circle, amid a great cloud of smoke in a state of physical disarray and mental strain. The explosion that shook the Academy grounds was greater, grander than any explosion of her making prior to this little stunt. Springtime Summoning Ritual; a spell that was her make-or-break in the Academy. The staff had been incredibly easy on her, but not even they could continue shielding her from the inevitability of reality.

She was a Zero. A failure. Not even the most basic spells, performed by her peers with childish ease, worked for her. It wasn’t to say that she had no magic; else these explosions wouldn’t keep happening and continuing to subtract money from her monthly allowances. Property damage, hurt honor, the works. And yet, no matter how hard she studied, no matter her accomplishments in theoretical subjects, the fact remained that she was _not_ capable of basic, Brimiric magic.

And now that her summoning of a familiar – a companion for life, a magical creature bound to her will – ended just like every other spell of hers, there were no more excuses to make. For now, she was happy to collapse on her knees and stare blankly ahead, trying to make any sense of the smoke patterns. She couldn’t hear the imminent jeering and mockery slung her way, still a little dizzy from the force of the explosion, but it didn’t matter. She would savor these last moments of her status as a mage before everything went to hell.

That’s when she saw a boot. Blinking, Louise looked up and soon regretted it; the figure in front of her was tall, taller than any man she could think of, singular in its body, with a pair of ominously shining red eyes and strangely shaped head. It stared without a word, or even a single sound. Was _that_ her familiar? This strange, eldritch demon that stood over her like it was she who was being summoned?

The smoke cleared a little, as did Louise’s vision, and now she could see more clearly. The singular body with no limbs was simply a greatcoat, covering the entirety of the person. It appeared to be a man, after all, of dark skin and silver hair. The strange shape of head was explained right away; he wore a strangely shaped cap. The eyes were still ominously red and, when all was said and done, knowing the shape of her familiar (?) did not put her at ease.

The onlookers could see it too. Louise the Zero, on her knees and staring up in disbelief at the dark-skinned man in the greatcoat. Something about that figure was eerie, unearthly, and—

“Ha! Zero summoned a commoner!” Someone called out and the air of mystique was dispersed in a flash, replaced with mocking laughter and finger-pointing. The man stared impassively at the motley crew of Francophone students of strangest countenances and hair colors, then looked over towards the selection of beasts gathered between them. Big and small, bizarre and mundane, a blue dragon that regarded him with caution. A smart one, that.

His expression did not change an inch. The chatter was shrill and annoying, but hardly a reason to react. For now he merely picked the pink-haired girl off the ground, dusting her off almost as an afterthought. That only caused the laughter to grow stronger. Many insults flew towards the girl that, presumably, summoned him here.

“ENOUGH!” The commanding voice of the balding professor in spectacles was accompanied by the slam of his staff’s butt down the floor. The court became deathly silent. “That is an unacceptable behavior for Nobles to indulge to! What else do you need? Should you not celebrate that your classmate succeeded?” Nobody replied, mostly interested in looking as inconspicuous as possible. The man in a cap shifted his unblinking gaze at the professor. This one was no ordinary educator.

“Now then, Miss Vallière…” Louise, for her part, just wanted this day to be over.

“Y-yes, of course, I’m getting to it…”

“Kindly step away from the circle.” The pinkette went still before turning to look at Professor Colbert. He flinched slightly at the look of utter disbelief and betrayal.

“Professor…?”

“I’m afraid I cannot let you bind this man.” Louise stared, as did the onlookers. That was an unprecedented situation. Never in a history of Tristain Academy of Magic was a student disallowed to finish the summoning ritual. Did Zero screw up so badly that something was amiss?

“P-professor Colbert, that’s only some stupid-looking commoner.” A pudgy blond boy objected. “What’s the problem?”

“Miss Vallière. Step away.” The pinkette did as ordered, eyes blank and movement stiff. Everyone watched her go and take a place at the edge of the crowd. One of her peers, a small girl with blue hair, reached out to offer a reassuring hand squeeze, but the man in the cap was not fooled; the blue eyes behind the red spectacles were on him. She must have been the one who summoned the dragon.

He looked at the professor. “Binding this man would be a threat to your life.” Colbert stated simply, tapping the floor with the staff. A wall of fire erupted behind the man in the cap, startling the students. Eerily enough, he reacted not, eyes transfixed on the educator.

Jean Colbert, runic name The Flame Serpent, had to give that man credit; his nerves must have been made of steel. “Now then. Reveal your true form, if you so please.”

“…”

“Or shall I spell it out for everyone present?” Colbert furrowed his brows, staff aimed at the man in the cap.

“Professor, what on earth is happening?” Another blond boy, this one a classic image of a heartthrob, asked, tone half-confused and half-frightened.

“This, students… is an elder werewolf.”

The man in the cap shifted forward ever so slightly. “Retreat inside the academy and summon other educators. This is not a drill.”

“P-professor, but this—“

“RIGHT NOW, Mr. Gramont, or so Brimir help you!” The mass of students huddled back in confusion and panic together with their familiars. Colbert caught Miss Zerbst and Miss Montmorency escorting unresponsive Miss Vallière with utmost urgency in the corner of his eye. The elder werewolf seemed content to let them evacuate, but then again, Colbert noted, he’s been unusually well-behaved for his kind. He could have very well killed Louise with a flick of his finger while the cloud of smoke was still in the air. Nobody would be the wiser until it would disperse.

And it seemed both Tabitha and Sylpheed were hanging back at the edge of imminent combat, ready to support him if need to. Of course. Save for them, him and it, the court was deserted. “Now then… while I’m grateful that you did not kill any of my students, I will have to ask you to surrender at once.” He said, briefly looking at the metallic shine of the skull and crossbones on top of the werewolf’s cap. “I cannot have you be unbridled, let alone become a Familiar.”

“…” Not much for conversation, this one. He was still leaning forward ever so slightly, looking ready to break into a sprint at a moment’s notice.

The next five seconds must have been the longest five seconds in Tabitha and Sylpheed’s lives. Only Louise could possibly summon an elder werewolf. While this meant that she wasn’t a Zero, it was a cold comfort when put nearby so much overwhelming power. Tabitha, slightly more sensitive to auras of incredible presences than other mages, clicked her tongue nervously, watching the situation unfold.

And then the werewolf slowly straightened back up and gave a single nod before raising his gloved hands up – carefully, so that Colbert could not misinterpret the gesture – in a universal sign of surrender. Tabitha felt her knees giving out from under her as she let out a sign of relief. Next to her, Sylphid too dropped on her rear with a quiet “Kyuu”.

“I see you are full of surprises.” Colbert said in a lighter tone, although his staff was still squarely pointed at the man in the cap. An understandable reaction. For all that Francophone knew, the man in the cap was planning a sneak attack. Luckily for him, said werewolf was weary of fighting.

For all The Captain knew, this might have been his very own personal Purgatory.

\----

The silence in the Headmaster’s office was deafening.

Educators of Tristain Academy of Magic gathered in Old Osmond’s quarters to discuss the fate of the unlikely summon brought here by an unlikely summoner. The elder werewolf in question proved unusually cooperative for his kind, letting himself be bound and encased in stone – a prison of Miss Chevreuse’s design – without a peep. Previously, he handed over his armaments – two pistols with enormously long barrels and advanced design that had Colbert gape in amazement, a long-bladed knife that too was made with impeccable craft, and an assortment of medicinal aid hidden in a small white package adorned with a red cross - as well as his greatcoat and cap.

The one thing that bothered Old Osmond the most about this was that throughout the entire ordeal, the werewolf’s expression didn’t change at all. It was a stern, stoic look. No, not stern. There was something deeply forlorn about it. It surely could not be about the imprisonment. No, if anything, it was the summoning itself that left him looking so disappointed, almost hurt.

“Is everyone here?” Osmond asked, largely rhetorically. It was just a convenient way to begin the proceedings. “Good. Then, let’s begin. Jean, can you recount the summoning?”

“Naturally. It began with an explosion.” Normally that kind of beginning would get at least one teacher to snicker, but given the situation, the room was still deathly silent. “Miss Vallière is the one behind the summoning. I suspect that the reason the explosion was so large ties both to the summoning spell and the power of the summonee.”

“Did Miss Vallière perform the summoning spell incorrectly?” Professor Puidemont, runic name The Stream, asked, arms folded across his chest.

“Yes. The chant had been altered, presumably out of desperation to succeed.”

“Oh, she succeeded alright…” Professor Rousseau, runic name The Torch, huffed. “A bloody elder werewolf. Romalia will be here before we can say “familiar”.”

“Well, this is to remain a secret until we figure out what to do with him.” Osmond replied with a shake of his head. “And, naturally, we will not be giving Miss Vallière over to any Romalian authorities should they appear.”

“I do find it rather suspicious however.” Professor Villeneuve, runic name The Mistral, said quietly, having a cursory look at her nails. “We all know that Miss Vallière’s record with magic is nothing short of embarrassing; yet, not only she manages to perform the summoning despite the botched chant, she gets a creature” Here she looked at the werewolf encased in stone with a look of utter contempt. “that goes against any Brimiric teachings as unnatural and vile, a beast of immeasurable power.”

“We know that Familiar candidates are summoned based on the compatibility with the summoner.” Rousseau nodded. “That is how Miss Zerbst got a salamander, for example.”

“Which is a very harrowing realization if we are to apply it to Miss Vallière.”

“What exactly are you implying, Amelia?” Miss Chevreuse, runic name The Red Clay, grumbled. “House Vallière has been nothing if not chivalrous and pious for as long as I can remember. Any accusations of intentional heresy and extreme misconduct are laughable.”

“There’s a limit to any man’s patience, even the daughter of Karin the Heavy Wind. We know she spends a great deal of her time outside of class in the school library, and is an astute student when it comes to magical theory.”

“That means nothing if she cannot put these theories into motion.” Colbert countered with a frown. “If she is unable to cast spells, it’s doubtful she would be able to handle other forms of magecraft. No other Vallière wields different magic either.”

“And yet she summoned an elder werewolf.” The elder werewolf himself remained silent and stern-looking, exuding a strange menacing aura even from behind his rocky prison. Miss Chevreuse knew her own craft and she was all but certain that it could break out from there whenever it pleased. This encasing wasn’t to keep it there, it was to slow it down. That the beast seemed fine to remain in its place spoke volumes of its patience – or its arrogance.

“I have a theory.” Osmond spoke up, watching everyone’s eyes turn to him. “Although if it proves true, it might be even more trouble for young Miss Vallière.”

“Headmaster, it could only get worse if she summoned a demon or an elf.” Rousseau shook his head, unconvinced in the old magician’s words. “I fail to see how her situation could get even more precarious.”

“What I’m about to propose is improbable enough that it’s likely you didn’t even consider it. However, before I do…” Slowly, he rose from his seat. “I would like to question you, Mr. Werewolf. I trust you understand us?”

The Captain nodded. “Excellent. Then let me ask right away: are you familiar with the name of Helkeginia?” A shake of head. “Do you know any elves?” Shake. “Have you any knowledge of Founder Brimir and his religion?” Shake.

“Are we to understand that you are not from this world?” A moment of hesitation followed by a nod.

“Excuse me, Headmaster, surely you do not think that this werewolf—“

“Is from another world? Exactly what I think. In fact, I have seen these insignia before.” That got the werewolf to shift ever so slightly, eyes fixed on Osmond rummaging through his desk as the other educators looked at each other with uncertain gazes. “A long time ago, when I was much younger and bolder, a stranger in a military uniform saved me from a dragon, though at the cost of his life. He wore this eagle on his chest.” Here, the headmaster presented a small patch of material decorated with the eagle in question. It was bright white, with its wings blocky and stretched out ninety degrees, head looking to the left.

The same kind of eagle was on the werewolf’s greatcoat. The Captain’s eyes widened just a little, but the fact that did not go unnoticed by Old Osmond. “The item your colleague used to defeat the dragon with has been classified as The Staff of Destruction, and is currently storaged in the Academy vault. Do you think you would be able to identify it?” A small nod. “Very good. If so—“

“Excuse me, Headmaster, surely you do not think of letting that beast walk free?” Villeneuve scoffed indignantly. “It’s a threat to all the good peoples of Brimiric faith, an elder werewolf!”

“I’m sure you realize that we could have been very well battling said werewolf right now. He’s being incredibly gracious in not forcing our hand, and so I believe that we can trust him not to lash out now.”

“That doesn’t mean anything! He could be plotting nefarious intent as we speak!”

“I will have to agree with Amelia, Headmaster.” Puidemont nodded in agreement. “I trust your judgment, but this _is_ a beast of incredible power and terrible implications…”

“Wet blankets, all of you!” Miss Chevreuse grumbled. “First you accuse a girl of heresy, then you—“

“Then we _what_ , Red Clay?! You wanna get your throat ripped out, be my guest!”

“Oh, it’s runic names time now?! You want to take this outside?!”

“ENOUGH!” Colbert called for attention once more, with a tone of absolute authority. “Is this a loony bin, or a proper respected academy of magic?!” Only silence answered him. Osmond muttered a quiet “thank you”, taking a moment to prepare his pipe. “Headmaster, you had a theory regarding Miss Vallière?” The old magician replied with a grunt, adding the prized Al-Khalidian tobacco before inhaling with a pleased sigh.

“Ladies, gentlemen... I think we have a Void Mage on our hands.”

\----

“…he said “Void Mage”…” Montmorency’s face was pale as she relayed the information to the others. Per Tabitha’s request, she sent out her familiar, Robin, to spy on the educators. Normally she wouldn’t even think of such underhanded methods and a blatant breach of privacy, but… these weren’t normal circumstances.

They were all gathered in Ze-Louise’s room right now. Funny how the world worked. An hour ago, Montmorency wouldn’t deign the pinkette with a visit and now… they were all gathered around her, trying and failing to offer words of support. It was Kirche’s idea, actually. She and Tabitha were flanking the presumed Void Mage, offering reassuring empty nothings.

“That would explain a lot of Little Louise’s troubles with magic.” The redhead said quietly, gently rubbing the other girl’s head. “I’m more surprised nobody took notice of your familiar, Monmon.”

“Can you not right now?” Montmorency groaned, rubbing her temple. Robin too had a hard time hiding in such a forbidden place. Among all the racket, their headache was shared.

“Given the panic, it’s only understandable. Nobody would bother looking for a familiar in this situation.” Guiche nodded sagely, expression grim. “An elder werewolf… my eldest brother once told me that they needed a team of six Triangle mages to subdue one such beast, and that was without accounting the lesser brethren of the wolfman.”

“…this one is more dangerous.” Tabitha replied quietly. “Soldier. Guns. Automatic response.”

“G-guns?” Malicorne stammered. “I didn’t see anything. Why would such a beast need guns to begin with?”

“This is incredible, in all the worst ways.” Monmon sighed, collapsing on the chair from exertion. “What does it all mean?”

“A lot of trouble.” Kirche sighed. Louise was unresponsive, just staring at a spot on the wall and letting the redhead do as she liked. “But right now, the bottom line is that should the teachers decide not to let Louise bind that werewolf, she’ll be expelled from the academy.”

“She should be able to try once more.” Guiche protested. “For Brimir’s sake, I didn’t think I would ever say it, but she’s no longer a Zero, and that fact must be recognized!”

“You can’t redo a summoning ritual. That’s tradition, Guiche.”

“Well, the tradition also says to bind whatever is summoned, be it commoner or demon!” Monmon gasped all of a sudden, alerting everyone present.

“…we’ve been found.” She merely said, face even paler than before as she went stiff in the chair.

“Well… it was nice studying here…” Malicorne stammered. “It was nice living too…”

“Shut it, Malicorne.” Kirche groused. “We’ll be fine. I hope.”

Louise remained unresponsive, save for pressing herself into the redhead’s arm ever so slightly more.

\----

“I’m sure all of you are aware of the gravity of the situation.”

The students gathered in the Headmaster’s office remained silent. Old Osmond was flanked by Professor Villeneuve and Professor Chevreuse, both of them staring at the unlikely group impassively. In the middle stood Louise, still largely numb to her surroundings, with Kirche and Tabitha flanking her. “I cannot begin to explain how vital the knowledge you’ve gained is, nor can I stress enough its threat to all of you.”

“That kind of breach of conduct is unacceptable.” The Mistral spoke with a cutting tone, regarding the students coldly. “In any other situation, it would be only natural to have all of you expelled from the Academy, at the very least.” Malicorne whimpered a little. “That is, of course, paltry compared to what Romalia and her representatives would do with you.”

“That’s enough, Amelia.” Miss Chevreuse shot her fellow educator a glare. “Look, kids, you shouldn’t have done that, is what she’s saying.”

“...with all due respect, we believe that regardless of who or what Louise’s summon is, she should have the right to bind them, as all of us could.” Guiche spoke up, trying to keep up a brave face. “That a student of Tristain Academy of Magic is denied a right to a familiar is unprecedented and baffling.”

“Is it really?” Old Osmond replied, with a tinge of amusement in his voice. “Has… any of you” Here he gestured at the students with his pipe. “summoned a man or otherwise an intelligent being?” Tabitha tried her best to keep a poker face, even as the Headmaster’s pipe lingered on her person for a moment longer. “You know that the binding is for life. Imagine you summon a man, a commoner from Gallia. You pull him away from his family, from his work, from what he knows, largely by chance.”

Silence was the only answer Osmond got, but it seemed that the lot of them understood the implications. To bind a fellow man like a slave, even if a commoner, wasn’t exactly within _noblesse oblige._ “That is, of course, disregarding the fact that the summoned being is not a commoner from Gallia, but an elder werewolf from another world. He wields guns that, I’m being told, would make Germanian manufacturers blush with envy. He’s not the first man of this uniform to come to Helkeginia either, as you’ve heard.” Here he looked pointedly at Montmorency, who could only sputter a quiet “sorry”.

“The five of you must understand that the knowledge of Miss Vallière’s affinity is something to be kept secret for an indeterminate time. Until I fully confirm her status as a Void Mage, I’m gonna have to ask you to remain silent on the matter.”

“...where… is the werewolf, Headmaster?” Kirche asked with a slight uncertainty to her voice.

“He’s currently verifying something with Professors Colbert, Puidemont and Rousseau.” Osmond took a puff of his pipe. “Given the unusual circumstances, Miss Vallière will not have to worry about expulsion. After all, the summoning was commenced successfully. However, the Academy staff will have to confirm a couple of things before we can decide if the summonee is compatible with her.”

“...I’m not going home?” Tabitha flinched, caught off-guard by Louise’s voice, and how small it was despite the hopeful tone, like a flickering candlelight. This little flame was growing however, much to her delight: the pinkette’s eyes were shining again.

“No. Even if we deem the werewolf unsuitable for you, the fact that you may lack an elemental affinity is reason enough to not dismiss you as a failure.” Osmond shrugged. “Of course, if the theory proves correct, it might be wise for you to return home either way. I fear the Academy has little to offer for a would-be Void Mage.”

“B-but if I return home, we can’t just… I mean… I can’t let Mother know that I might be...” Louise scrambled to speak coherently, eyes flickering from one part of the office to the other. “Oh dear, oh lord…”

“Well, at least you’re back to the land of the living.” Kirche hummed with a smile, offering a small headpat. The pinkette bristled, fighting off a blush.

“W-what gives, Zerbst?!” And then, much to her fluster, Louise was glomped by Tabitha and Montmorency both. Guiche and Malicorne gave themselves mildly amused looks before they joined in on the endeavor. “H-h-h-hey, what is all this?!”

Osmond couldn’t help but smile himself. Thank Brimir for a long beard. Let them smile and enjoy life. If Louise really is a Void Mage, this might be one of their last happy memories before the inevitable comes.

And given her summon, it might have been much faster than planned.

\----

“Here it is, the Staff of Destruction.” Colbert handed the metal tube over to The Captain.

The werewolf gave it a pointed stare as he silently examined the weapon. The little shield, the familiar build, the familiar height. The good old Panzerschreck was before him plain as day. The two other educators were behind him, their wands pointed at him the entire time. He didn’t feel like testing their nerves, frayed as they already were, and so his moves remained slow and measured.

“Can you tell us anything about it?” Colbert asked, himself more relaxed than his two peers. The Captain looked at him and handed it back over.

“ **It’s a gun**.” He didn’t like talking very much, and it was obvious that he went on for days without actually doing so, and so his voice was gravelly and dry, a resounding bass that seemed like it would belong more to an ancient demon. Professor Puidemont flinched a little at its sound. The bespectacled educator raised an eyebrow as he himself began examining the Staff.

“...now that you say it, yes, I can see it. It’s obviously more advanced than our craft, but… but how do you use it? It seems a bit too small to be a field cannon, and it’s not quite a mortar either...” Watching him try and make some sense of technology that, to The Captain, was dated was a curious thing. He seemed like the inquisitive sort.

Funny, wasn’t that how he first approached that one Prussian back in a day…?

“ **Shoulder. Fire from trench.”** He explained succinctly.

“A trench?” Professor Rousseau didn’t seem convinced. “So it’s a defensive weapon?” Oh, right. It was likely that nobody had ever heard of trench warfare here, nor did they know about bunkers and modern fortifications. If he had to guess, they weren’t even familiar with the concept of line infantry of Napoleonic yore.

“ **Anti-armor.”**

“That’s ridiculous. There must be more efficient ways of dealing with armored regiments. You would have a better success against cavalry with an ordinary field cannon, if for some reason you do not have a Mage in your ranks.” Armored regiments, huh? It wasn’t hard to resist an urge to smile, but the notion showed up briefly in the werewolf’s head.

“I don’t think that’s what he meant by “armor”.” Colbert shook his head. “He comes from a world obviously much more technologically advanced than ours.”

“Then what? Armored wagons? These idiotic contraptions that Germanians are insistent on making?”

“I wouldn’t rule it out.” While it was interesting to take in the sights and the discussion – this world had two moons, apparently, as The Captain just noticed – there was still a matter of the pinkette that summoned him here. The staff was obviously against him becoming her Familiar, a notion well understood, but at the same time the way the old headmaster described these “Void Mages”, it sounded like they were in need of proficient bodyguards.

It was one way to repent for his tenure under a _Hakenkreuz_ , he figured: to help this Louise girl with matters obviously way over her head.

Wait, Germanians? Slowly, his head turned towards Professor Rousseau. The educator, less than thrilled at being an object of attention, raised his wand threateningly. **“Germanians?”**

“The people of Germania. It’s the country East from here.” Puidemont cut in with a wary tone.

“ **...I’m from Germany.”** The three teachers exchanged uncertain looks between each other. **“...a map of this world?”**

“Shouldn’t be a problem to procure one, no.” Colbert nodded. “Ah, but what about the Staff?”

“ **Empty. Useless.”**

\----

“D-don’t think I’ve forgiven you lot yet!” Although Louise’s words were confrontational, the tone was still flustered after the happenings at the Headmaster’s office.

They were back in her room minus Guiche and Montmorency, who had to excuse themselves due to undisclosed reasons (Kirche snickered when questioned about it). “Especially you, Common Cold.” Here the pinkette shot Malicorne a dirty look. The pudgy blond made a face.

“C-come on, Vallière, I stopped calling you Zero already!” He whined, folding his arms on his chest defensively. “It’s “Windward”, get it right.”

“Oh, you’ll have to excuse our little beastmaster.” Kirche smiled, catching the hapless pink in a loving, slightly smothering embrace. “She’s got a couple of reasons to be upset with us.”

“I’m upset that you’re choking me with your udders, Zerbst!”

“Gotta think of a runic name.” Tabitha cut in, looking unusually thoughtful even for herself. Normally not half-bad at keeping a poker face, today even Malicorne could tell something was amiss about the Gallian bluenette.

“Let’s not get too far ahead of ourselves. There’s no telling if I’ll be able to bind that werewolf anyway...” Louise sighed, finally settling on resting her head against Kirche’s vast baronies. “And, well, this whole Void Mage thing, I… it’s still scary when I think about it.”

“Rightly so. Lots of responsibility, power… enemies.” Tabitha let the last word linger in the air for a bit before shaking her head. The pinkette was, without a doubt, her target. She couldn’t think of it, honestly. “...I’ll go get some air.”

“...please take care, Tabby.” Kirche said quietly as the three of them watched her leave.

“I should make myself scarce too.” Malicorne shuffled off his seat, rubbing the back of his head awkwardly. “It’s getting a bit close to the curfew… so, uh, Vallière? Congrats. Keep at it.”

“...thanks, Malicorne.” Then it was just the two of them. Several hours ago, Louise would loathe to find herself one-on-one with Kirche, and in her grasp, no less, but now… well, she was happy to still be around. She could stand being a plushie for an overbearing Germanian for a time. “Zerbst? You’re awfully quiet.”

“Just thinking about you and Tabby.” Why was Kirche’s voice so awfully thoughtful, not unlike how Tabitha’s was a moment ago? “And that werewolf, too.”

“You’d really bed a werewolf?”

“What? Oh, no, not thinking like that. Just… when we were escorting you out of the ritual site, I caught sight of his eyes. I don’t think he wanted to be summoned in the first place. Do you know that look of someone who’d rather go back to bed than get out there and do things?”

“More or less.”

“But his eyes were wide open the entire time. When he stared at Professor Colbert or when he watched us scurry away, and yet there was that tinge of the look I mentioned just now.”

“I don’t follow, Zer-” Louise stopped herself for a moment, rubbing her chin. “I don’t follow, Kirche.”

“Oh, Little Louise… your werewolf had rested far longer than a good night’s sleep.”

\----

Normally, a flight through the evening was good enough to soothe Tabitha’s frayed nerves. No such luck today.

Was it because she actually liked Louise? Yes, she was difficult to get along with, but under that anger and the urge to butt heads with Kirche (and others calling her out as a Zero) there was a kind soul. Not once did the bluenette catch her telling off the commoner staff or laughing at others’ misfortunes. The few times they got to study after hours in a library, she was nothing if not a genial young girl.

Sylpheed, sensing her Master’s unease, offered a soft “Kyuu” of reassurance as they landed in the courtyard. “I’m sorry. Just tired.” She lied smoothly, shuffling off her dragon’s back. Fortunately, not tired enough not to sense an approaching presence. Her staff was pointed at the person ahead out of reflex – but it was only the wizened personage of the headmaster.

“Peace, peace. I’m unarmed.” The old mage soothed, idly smoking his pipe. Tabitha slowly lowered her staff. “You know that it’s long past curfew now, do you?”

“Apologies, Headmaster. I could not sleep.”

“That’s fine, I meant to talk to you either way.” A talk? Just like that, in the middle of the night, in the middle of the courtyard? Tabitha tensed again. “Worry not, you’re not in trouble. Well, not anymore than you already are.”

“I don’t follow, sir.” Osmond laughed, shaking his head.

“Come now, young lady, put more faith in this pile of old bones.” He didn’t continue immediately, taking a moment to puff out an elaborate shape of smoke, formed almost like… like the Gallian palace…? “I’m a Headmaster for many reasons, and one of them is being insightful.”

Tabitha didn’t reply immediately either, looking as if she was considering the weight of Osmond’s words. Her plan of jumping back on Sylpheed and taking off didn’t find any purchase however: there was a heavy gloved hand on her shoulder, firm but not harmful. The werewolf was right behind her, standing still like a statue, as if he just materialized out of thin air to seize her. Her dragon bristled, hissing and preparing to attack, but Tabitha calmed her down with a simple gesture.

This fight was lost before it began, and there was no need to make their situation worse. “Do forgive me, young lady, but I had to make sure you do not cut and run, not when there is something I wish to say.” Osmond said, nodding briefly at The Captain. The werewolf did not move. “So, let’s get this out of the way, Charlotte de Gallia.”

“What if we could solve your predicament?”


	2. Die Herzogin

_The sight before his eyes was a harrowing one._

_A facility built by the Reich, for the explicit purpose of exterminating undesirable elements. Anyone who did not fit into the destructive ideology of Nazi Germany had to go. Jews, The Romany, Slavs, homosexuals, mentally impaired… all of them had to go. He wasn’t sure why he was here to begin with, and yet his superior – a pudgy blond in immaculate white, a Major by rank – insisted that he visited at least one death camp in his life._

“ _I have to stress that what you see is not what we plan to do.” He said, smiling reassuringly at the other man. He, in a giant greatcoat of Afrikakorps, at odds to blacks and reds of SS-men, only nodded in response. “There’s reason to this, but we hold loftier goals and more virtuous ideas. We create rather than destroy, if you will.”_

_The camp guards let them in no problem, although more than a few cast him suspicious looks. Must have been because of his skin, or perhaps due to his height? He dwarfed over most of these so-called Overmen, even as they stood at attention before The Major. It was about time that another portion of “prisoners” arrived at the train yard. A train full to the brim with people, huddled together like animals sensing danger. They watched them impassively for a moment._

“ _These are the Undermen our_ _Führer_ _envisioned as unworthy of the new world order.” The Major said. He had an uncanny ability to maintain a pleasant smile at all times, a mark of a steel nerves or a first-class_ _sociopath_ _. “People on whose backs he wishes to create the glorious paradise for the Aryan race.” He nodded at the commanding officer at the train yard, clearly looking to gain points with a superior rank. The passengers were escorted towards the buildings. “But_ _if I may be frank, I find these methods to be inefficient. All these Heydrichs and Himmlers yap on and on, but they are not finding the real core of the problem.”_

_They walked forward, towards the buildings. Unlike the entrance for the prisoners – labeled Showers and Disinfection, with huge automated doors – theirs was of a more private, cozy sort. Subsequent faceless soldiers saluted and snapped their boots together, and both of them ignored them as they proceeded towards the goal of their – of The Major’s – journey: an observation room._

“ _Man or werewolf, male or female,_ _Christian, Jew or Muslim – we’re all mortal, aren’t we? What greatness is to be found in killing those weaker than you? Gratification, yes, and sick pleasure.” From the balcony behind the armored glass they had a good look at the prisoners. They had been told to disrobe and hand in their belongings. They would be given back later, their handlers had said, well-aware that there would be no “later” to begin with. “We’re mortal, and flawed. One may be a paragon of German thought, an Aryan warrior to pave way for a brilliant future… but what if he too has vices of his own?”_

_The Major idly adjusted their glasses as they watched the people down in the killing room. Men and women, young and old, blond and brunet, each of them a distinct creature of their own. The gas began seeping in as the heavy doors locked behind them. “Proud sons of the new order shouldn’t have to deal with things beneath them.” The Major said, as the Captain watched, eyes glued to the horrifying scene. Zyklon B was a terrifying pesticide, made for killing vermin and harmful insects – in the eyes of the Reich, perfect for dealing with the Undermen. People coughing, dropping on the floor, squirming on the ground, trying and failing to protect themselves and each other. The sound was muted, but he could imagine horrified screams, pleas for mercy, cries. He saw a woman trying to breathe a life into her infant, give or take a few months old, as it became still from the inhalation. One after another, lives ended before their eyes. The Major never turned away from the sight either, smiling that same pleasant smile._

“ _You will not have to concern yourself with sordid affairs like this one._ _No, what stands before us, my friend, is Millennium. Such is the name_ _Führer_ _bestowed upon this plan to create a true_ _Übermensch_ _that can make his dream of a Thousand-Year Reich true.” The Captain was still. The killing of the weak, he could understand. Wolves were pack animals, and they went for the weakest targets first. And yet, down there in this cloud of death squirmed people of all ways of life. An elderly professor of linguistics from Warsaw, a Jewish singer from a popular club in Prague, a young girl with the dreams of becoming a fantasy writer, a hearty lad that just recently took up boxing…_

_There was even an oddly familiar girl there atop the pile of dead bodies, with exotic pink hair and_ _a_ _small,_ _delicate_ _frame. The commandos were dispersing the pesticide, getting ready to transport the bodies to crematories. They would be used as fuel, turned into soap, made into medicine. The wedding rings and golden teeth would be taken and added to the treasury for the war effort of the Reich. The clothes would go to those German families who could use them, down on their luck even now._

“ _Now then, Captain_ _Günsc_ _he, last of your kind… shall we build this new dream together?” The Captain remained still all that time, watching the camp workers cart off hundreds of bodies away from the killing room. The pink-haired girl remained on top of the pile, eyes vacantly staring ahead, as if in search of heaven._

_He nodded._

_\----_

Louise awoke with a scream, in the dead of night.

Her entire body was beaded with cold sweat, as if she was drenched in a torrential rain as she struggled to control her breathing, taking sharp, shallow gasps, trying and failing to get the horrifying images out of her head. Sensing the gag reflex coming up, she went for the  nearby ornate bowl. Nothing came out, but she refused to raise her head, not trusting herself to not make this terrible sensation even more revolting. 

That’s how Kirche, startled awake by her scream, found her: on the floor, feverish, hanging over the bowl in question. “...dear Founder. Louise…?” The pinkette convulsed with a violent coughing fit, relaxing just a little when the redhead reached out to hold her.

“What’s the racket…?” One of the first-years groaned from the corridor, peeking her messy mane of hair into the doorframe.

“Get a maid with some water here.” She called, checking Louise’s forehead. Hot. “And Professor Puidemont.”

“Ugh, of course it’s Zero...”

“Before I burn your teats off!” That threat seemed to work on the first-year: Kirche listened to her steps leaving the corridor. “Louise… oh dear, Louise, what’s wrong…?” 

“I… that werewolf...” The pinkette barely put these words together before devolving into another coughing fit, her throat like dried-up plywood.

“Did he do something to you?”

“No, I… the dream… I...” The rest of her voice was drown out by a pathetic sob. Sighing, Kirche gently pulled her closer out of the bowl and into a hug, stroking her hair.

“Shh… it’s okay. I won’t let any bad thing take you away.” She said softly, trying to get Louise to calm down. The pinkette was absolutely crushed, her tears smearing over her nightgown – but that was nothing compared to the terrible visage she must have seen.

Puidemont showed up with the first-year and a maid holding a glass of water – her name was Siesta, Kirche recalled. “What on earth…? Miss Zerbst, I sure hope you can explain this.” He grumbled, rubbing the bridge of his nose. The redhead realized that her and Louise’s current position might have been seen as a bit compromising, gently letting the pinkette go back on her bed.

“I heard Louise scream. She was with her head in the bowl and feverish when I went in to check on her.” The professor frowned, nodding. So it was something more than a simple night’s scare. Brimir only knew how many calls of murder he’s gotten in this academy from overemotional students. Here was hoping this had nothing to do with that Void Mage business...

“Well, the water first.” The maid approached, offering the glass to the pinkette. Louise took greedy sips, not stopping to savor the soothing taste. “Probably best I have you in the infirmary for the time being, Miss Vallière. Can you walk?” 

“...yes. I think.” Came the shaky reply.

“Miss Zerbst, can I trust you to give her a hand?”

“I’m fine, I d-don’t need no—“

“Not listening, Louise. Let’s just put something warmer on you first.”

“Speak for yourself...”

“Joke’s on you, Fire Mages don’t get cold.” Kirche teased, gently bumping her shoulder with a smile. “Please tell Siesta where you hold your blankets.”

“Fine, I...” Louise’s voice went still again as she stared at the maid. There was nothing particularly extraordinary about the maid, save for perhaps her black hair – a rare color in these parts. Well, there was one more thing that got the pinkette’s attention. “...what the hell are you wearing, maid?”

“...I, um, I beg your pardon, milady?” Kirche and Puidemont frowned, looking at the same spot where Louise was: a small pendant, cheaply made, of a simple cross with arms bent ninety degrees. The cross itself was askew. The redhead had seen the symbol a couple of times – some Germanian nobles used it as a sign of good luck and prosperity – but never put diagonally.

“Take it off.”

“U-um...”

“Take it _off!_ ” Louise’s voice went an octave higher as she suddenly grabbed at the maid’s collar, much to her terror. “Take this wretched thing off you right now!” 

“Easy, Louise, easy…” Gently, but firmly, Kirche pulled the pinkette back. “Do as she says. She’s not feeling well, it might be disorienting her.” Siesta nodded uncertainly, stepping back to do just that and hide the pendant in the pocket of her skirt, a little shaken by the sudden event.

“Is this some good luck charm?” Puidemont frowned, watching the maid step back a couple more inches. “I’ve never seen that cross before.”

“It’s from eastern Germania. Some frontier nobles fancy it as a benevolent symbol.” Kirche explained, looking down at Louise. She seemed better than moments before – the cross must have reinvigorated her somehow- but now she was doing nothing but glaring daggers at the hapless maid.

“I-it was my grandfather’s, originally...” Siesta said, avoiding the eye contact with others present.

“Do the commoners also use it?” Puidemont asked with a raised eyebrow.

“He said that, um, that every good man and woman does.”

\----

Meanwhile, somewhere far away from Tristain Academy of Magic…

T abitha soared atop Sylpheed through the cold nocturnal air, catching sight of the  sapphire tops of the Gallian Royal Palace in the distance, glimmering in the moonlight.  Steadily, she lowered her altitude until she was at the ground level. Not far away was The Captain, easily keeping pace with her despite being on foot. They made eye contact and slowed down, stopping a short distance before the first wall of fortifications meant to ward off unwanted visitors. 

The Royal Palace, unlike the other symbols of authority in Helkeginia, was not situated in its country’s capital.  The reasons of this eluded Tabitha, but it did make certain things earlier for her. Her point of interest was a small villa on the royal grounds, a place where a certain someone was being held captive by her uncle’s wishes. If she tried to rescue that person, she would most likely be cut down by the guards, magical or otherwise. Tabitha was skilled, but not skilled enough. 

Fortunately, she had an elder werewolf on her side now.

Old Osmond presented the plan as simple as it was effective: Tabitha’s mother, Duchess  d'Orléans,  would be extracted by the werewolf – who could not possibly be explicitly tied to any significant faction, much less Tabitha herself – depriving Joseph de Gallia of his personal black ops specialist. The headmaster did stress that this is as much of a rite of passage as it was a show of trust: The Captain was free to leave if he so desired, and nobody would be good enough – or mad enough –  to pursue him. Since he wasn’t officially bound as a Familiar, he could be free to live a life of personal satisfaction.

He stuck around.

“...good luck.” Tabitha said quietly, retreating from sight. Sylpheed gave a small “Kyuu” of encouragement as they hid into the shadows, leaving him to face the obstacle ahead alone. Then again, so far this was nothing but a stroll. There were no armed guards, no patrols, no watching beasts. He expected that to change after scaling the wall, but he wasn’t too worried. As long as he faced no Mages, he should be fine. 

It was thus wise to prepare for facing one or several. There was no reliable source of bullets for his pistols in this land, so he had to make do with the few clips still on him. Fortunately, any creature like him was a weapon in their own right. He moved quietly past the wall, taking note of anything strange. The villa was supposed to be past the second, inner wall: right under a watchful eye of the central wall and the Palace itself.  Now came the patrols, although not in a form as he expected them: rune-covered gargoyles his size lazily floating by the ground didn’t strike him as the usual fare. 

Fortunately, the monsters didn’t seem too vigilant for someone like him, for whom the night was always an allied veil. They could certainly catch an ordinary infiltrator unawares, The Captain thought as he moved from a shadow to shadow. Sometimes he would stop dead in his tracks when he would sense the dead eyes of the gargoyles looking in his direction and then would resume on his merry way. 

The first men he saw were almost by the entrance. The villa had a number of assorted buildings to it. Likely it was once used as a place of leisure before Joseph de Gallia turned it into a house arrest for his late brother’s mad wife. Tabitha explained the situation at length: a tale of dreary politics, of a man who wanted the throne for himself, of her mother’s sacrifice, and of her own plight as she was forced to deal with Gallia’s dirt for a few good years now. The Captain thought she resisted the dread of existence pretty well, but then again, it was likely she wasn’t so withdrawn and laconic before this mess started. Osmond was certain that he can concoct an antidote for the duchess; now it was only a matter of  extracting her from the clutches of the mad king. 

He remained hidden, listening to the guards chat between themselves. Their French was different from Tristain’s French (or the equivalent of thereof), but not different enough to not tell the topic of conversation. “I don’t understand why His Highness bothers with that shrew.” The pudgy one grumbled, resting on his spear. 

“Shush, you. It’s still his brother’s wife. They said that someone’s out there working on a cure.” The lanky one replied with a quiet reproach. “And apparently she only went mad because she took a drink meant for her daughter?” 

“Little Charlotte? I wonder what became of her.” The muscled one hummed, scratching his head under the helmet. “She just up and vanished after all that. And yes, the drink was poisoned. Court politics, Brimir’s balls.”

“Wonder who could want to poison a kid like her...”

“Two Staves, One Crown.” The older one, with a plume to his helmet – a guard leader, no doubt – said with a tone of authority. “Charlotte had a twin sister, didn’t she?”

“Messed up, is what this is...” The pudgy one shook his head. “Nobles are weird with their customs. Couldn’t Duke d'Orléans stay around as a, well, Duke?” 

“Nay. That law has precedence. Royal family has a long history of infighting.” 

“Damn. Captain D’artagnan, this really _is_ messed up.” 

“Quiet, Julius. You don’t get paid from Royal Treasury by flapping your gums. We’re keeping the Duchess safe, both from others and from herself, end of story.” 

“It _is_ a well-paid job.” The lanky one pointed out. “The grunts patrolling the capital don’t get half as much as us.”

“Which means the Duchess is dear to His Highness’s heart.” The plumed one nodded as if to ascertain that notion. “...anyway, that’s enough of stalking in the shadows, interloper.” The three other guards stared at the captain dumbly before their eyes followed his and widened when another captain emerged from the dark. 

The Captain’s expression was as impassive as ever, but something was amiss. Mere experience wouldn’t be enough for D’artagnan to spot him. He was careless, seemed: the gargoyles patrolling the area meant magic must have been used, on human guards as well. “W-who the hell?!” The muscled one scrambled to brandish his spear threateningly, even as his jaw quivered in obvious fear. The Captain stared between the four, dismissing the underlings  and focusing at the leader. “Where did this freak come from?!” 

“Steady, men.” D’artagnan was nothing if not composed, drawing his own sword. “We trained for situations like these. Now then, interloper. I do not know what was your plan, but I’ll give you one chance to turn tail and flee.” His eyes shone with a purple glow, similar to the one on the runes covering the gargoyles. Enhanced sight then. The lanky and the pudgy one were still paralyzed with shock, the former scrambling to grab his arquebus. “Else you’ll feel the sting of Captain D’arta—“

The Captain was on them with his fist before they could blink. The plumed soldier was fast enough to get out of the way, though not fast enough to have his rapier shattered from the destructive blow and the shards to embed in his face. Another fist smashed into the lanky one’s face, right through it. The muscled one cried out in desperation and stabbed at the intruder. He only had time to register that a steel tip piercing through the man’s back didn’t slow him down at all before the backhand swing tore his jaw off and send his body into the leader, keeping him under the  weight of his underling. 

The pudgy one was screaming the entire time, having drawn his pistol and firing it to no avail. It jammed at a critical moment; not that it stopped the terrified guard from squeezing the trigger either way. The Captain cast him a brief look and demonstratively snatched the flintlock from his grasp, crushing it in his hand. “Devil! Devil, d-devil!” He kept squeaking and squirming as he dropped on his rear, completely taken over by his fear. It was a pitiful sight, really. Ignoring him the werewolf kicked off the muscled one’s corpse, pressing his foot down on the leader’s chest. The man was staring up at him defiantly, even despite the shards of his sword in his face. The Captain took notice of the little key under the leader’s shirt, previously hidden from sight in the fight. He reached down to grab it. 

That was when D’artagnan, in one last act of defiance, slipped a little knife from his sleeve – a silver ornamented thing, a symbol of prestige more than a weapon – and jabbed it right through The Captain’s palm. It went through clean and stopped the intruder’s advance for a brief moment. “Ha! Curse on you, mongrel! Madame Sheffield will know—!” Then the interloper’s foot pressed down on his chest and past through the body, crushing his heart and ribcage with a sickening sound. “She’ll know what you are...” D’artagnan’s body went limp as his last breath escaped his lips. The Captain grabbed the key, then drew the silver knife out of his palm, watching the unhealing wound with the same impassive look. That smarted. 

Whoever this Sheffield was, the plumed leader made her sound as a genuine threat. Time to move. He grabbed Julian by the scruff of his neck and kicked the door to the villa open.  **“Lead** . **”** He simply said to the terrified guard. The young guard, having just watched his squad and even Captain D’artagnan – a legend in Gallian Army – crumple under the destructive force of the intruder had a brief motion to defy him even now, at his complete mercy. He nipped the notion right in the bud as his survival instincts kicked in. 

Thus, with a shaky voice, he gave the assailant directions to the Duchess’s chambers. In the other hand of the attacker was a pistol the kind of which Julian had never seen before, with an enormous barrel and an alien design screaming modernity. Despite the cut on his hand, he wielded it with absolute certainty, searching for anyone foolish enough to get in the way.  (Un)luckily, no one showed up to oppose him. The villa was pretty much deserted; the four of them and the stray magical constructs around it were the entire defense of the place. 

The Captain  used the key to open the door , searching for anyone  threatening in the room one last time before he holstered his pistol. No bullets wasted, good. Dropping the hapless guard on  the floor, he had a look at the woman sitting at the edge of her luxurious bed, clutching a small cloth doll to her chest. Though physically healthy, and in fine clothing befitting her stature, the eyes… the eyes did not belong. A lesser man would not doubt flinch upon seeing the jittery look of cornered prey, little beady eyes looking to and fro with complete terror. The pale countenance and the mess of blue hair – bedhair, presumably – did little to alleviate the uneasy feeling. The Captain had seen such people before. 

He’d seen them die for the so-called better race. “...hello… are you a new guard?” Her voice was shaky and uncertain, but she didn’t seem to be afraid. “Hello, Julian. You’re looking ill.” And her attention span was short and frayed. 

“I, um...” The intruder grabbed him by the neck again and lifted him up to a stand. “Y-yes! I, um, I’m decidedly ill, Your Grace.” 

“Please go rest. Charlotte does not like when you and the others are tired.” The duchess clutched the doll in her grasp. “Please go rest, okay?”

“ **...he’ll stay. He’s showing me around.”** The Captain tried to speak with a softer tone, but it still came out as rough and garbled. Both the duchess and the guard flinched. **“Sorry. Sore throat.”**

“Oh, that’s alright.” The woman smiled, even as her eyes tried and failed to find some sort of foothold to rest on. “You should probably rest too.” 

“ **Apologies. We have to move. King’s orders.** ” 

“Move…? But Charlotte likes this villa. Please, can he not reconsider? She really likes it, see?” Here the duchess presented the cloth doll. With some hint of grim amusement The Captain noticed that the doll’s expression was forever affixed in a sad, forlorn look. “She’s so small and little… she cannot just move around in the middle of the night, she’ll get sick from it.” 

“ **Safety measures.”** The werewolf shook his head. **“Please dress yourself and your daughter. We are leaving in five minutes.”** Deciding to give her a moment of privacy, he all but dragged Julian out of the room, closing the door. The guard remained silent, shaking in his boots near the intruder. The Captain too didn’t say a word or make the slightest sound, sometimes only staring at the wound on his palm. The pudgy guard couldn’t help but be impressed at how deep Captain D’artagnan’s knife cut. Incredible, really, that a silver bauble could do so much damage to him than a steel spear… 

...silver! He had a silver hairpin on him, the little gift he was planning to give to his sweetheart once he returned home. Well, that was before he found himself with a creature of devilry, but what if—

The intruder cast him a single look and Julian’s entire body was rattled to the core. No, he’d have to be mad to try that. If someone as skilled as Captain D’artagnan could only cut his hand, what chance could he possibly have? If all went well, he could survive this, even! Yes, best to hold onto that notion! Meanwhile, the duchess emerged out of the room in a travel wear, still holding the doll in her hands. 

“ **Please hold onto me. We will be running.** ” She tilted her head, but did as ordered, letting herself be carried. This new guard’s grip was like steel in its firmness and yet gentle like silken sheets. Even using only one hand to hold onto him – she had to keep Charlotte safe, after all – she didn’t feel like she was in danger. **“Take care.** ” He said to Julian who merely swallowed nervously as they turned to leave. Strange, was he not coming with them? Perhaps there was still a need to defend this villa, or maybe new guests would take her place.

“Ah… will we get my things back later?”The new guard nodded, taking her to the cold midnight air. There was not a soul around, not even the usual group of guards that protected the premises. How strange. She didn’t get to think much about it because when he said “running”, he really took off into a run. 

And it was  _fast_ . She cried out in fright as she nervously held at his neck as they dashed at blinding speeds, almost as if they were riding a flying beast! What scare, but what excitement! She’s never been the one to engage in such reckless ideas, and she was terrified out of her wits even in this secure grip of his, but she could now see and feel what the others felt when engaging in such activities!

So mystified was the duchess that the three brutalized bodies at the entrance to the villa grounds completely skipped her attention. 

\---- 

Kirche awoke with Tabitha in her bed. 

Louise was… not well. After the maid said that the askew cross was worn by everyone in Germania, she grabbed her hairbrush and tried to bludgeon the poor girl with it, screaming curses and profanities the entire time. Fortunately for the situation, her condition made her easy enough to restrain. Professor Puidemont had to resort to a sleeping spell before he and the redhead escorted the pinkette back to the infirmary. Whatever nightmare haunted her, it wasn’t going to let go. The maid held no ill will, happy to not be a target of rabid,  _hateful_ threats anymore. 

She stayed with the slumbering pinkette for a bit before returning to her own room. Ah, this accursed werewolf. Even when he wasn’t Louise’s familiar, he was causing her troubles, likely unaware of his own faults.  Or perhaps this was the stress of her affinity? Kirche couldn’t say, but the last thing she expected was to find her other friend cuddled up close to her. “Tabby? Good morrow.” She smiled, stroking the bluenette’s hair. Tabitha was fast asleep, small and frail compared to herself. 

She was smiling peacefully. The few times they had sleepovers together, this was the first time Kirche saw her like this. There were tear marks on her face, but the redhead guessed these were happy tears. “Ah, fine. I’ll give you five more minutes.” She hummed, playing idly with her friend’s hair. “But you’ll get the teasing of a lifetime once you wake up.” 

In a different room, Jeanne Celeste d'Orléans’s eyes – cleared of the maddening poison – slowly opened.


	3. Der Leitwolf

Louise awoke in the infirmary bed.

She had a brief recollection of being told to head there and the… oh. The nauseating dream that made her physically ill. That must have been it. The pinkette made a sound as she climbed up to a sit, rubbing her eyes awake and initially not realizing that the werewolf was sitting there the entire time. When she did, her body went still and a chill ran down her spine as she forced herself to look at him.

He was sitting at a stool nearby, motionless, unblinking. Less of a mere monster and more of something far more insidious and demonic. Were all elder werewolves like that? Or was it just this one? The crimson orbs of his eyes followed every slight move of her body even as she tried to make herself look less tense. This uncomfortable eye contact persisted for a bit before she was forced to turn away, unable to stare at him any longer.

...he was there. He was there and watched, with tacit indifference, as these people died horrifying deaths.

“You were in my dream.” She said quietly, cursing that her voice shook. The werewolf was still. “You were there and watched as people died. Your allies gassed them with some toxin.” She wasn’t sure where she was going with this. Really, he could probably snap her neck if she spoke out of tone, said something he didn’t like. Why was she insistent on baring her soul and speaking her mind to this almost-a-stranger, this horrifying man from another world, a monster much greater than any other werewolf?

“Why did these people die? What did they do to deserve it?” Nothing. His face didn’t change, he didn’t say anything, he didn’t even blink. She could have very well been talking to a wall, and that only made her angrier. “ _Why_ did they have to die?” She asked again, making eye contact again. It might have been the most terrifying thing she had ever faced, and she was vulnerable here without her focus – fat lot it would do for her, anyway – but she was a daughter of Karin the Heavy Wind, and she would not fly from a foe.

The Captain shrugged.

Louise went from merely angry to seething with incandescent rage. _“You mongrel!”_ She lashed out with a slap, and regretted it immediately: she might have very well been hitting a brick wall. Nevertheless, she hit him again, ignoring the flaring pain in her hand. He didn’t flinch even a little, but it didn’t matter for her. “What kind of sick monster would stand there and watch these people die?! For what?! How would you justify any of this?! The killing, no, the _culling_ of the children, of women, of the elderly!” She swung her hand a third time, but this time he caught her by the wrist. “Let go!”

He let go, so she tried to slap him again. Rinse and repeat, each instance making Louise more furious until she reached a breaking point and just collapsed back on the bed, nursing her reddening hand. “Leave me be. I don’t want to see your flea-ridden hide for a long while.” She realized that, due to all of this anger and the subsequent exhaustion, her voice stopped shaking. Of course, that came with a realization that perhaps she went too far in her choice of insults. And yet, the werewolf showed no sign of being slighted, even as he slowly stood up and left her to her own stewing thoughts. When the door to the infirmary opened again, she was ready to raise her voice once more – but this time it was only Professor Puidemont.

“The werewolf was right.” He said with a hint of vague amusement. “You are feeling better.”

\----

“I cannot thank you enough, Osmond.” Duchess d'Orléans smiled radiantly. Tabitha – pardon, Charlotte – was nearby, and since her induction in the Academy, it was the first time the headmaster saw her so unconditionally happy.

The antidote application proved simple enough. The poison used to ruin the duchess’s mind might have been a cutting edge of assassination techniques back in a day, but since then the alchemy – combined with the rigid yet ever useful Brimiric magic – advanced quite a few steps ahead. “I just did what any self-respecting teacher should and applied my knowledge accordingly.” Osmond seemed nevertheless pleased with himself as well, smoking his pipe and letting the smoke form into various fantastical patterns. “It’s your daughter and her aid that you should be thanking, really.”

“I d-didn’t do anything...” The younger of the bluenettes looked down on her feet.

“Well, if it wasn’t for you, our big friend would not be able to get on the villa’s premises.” The headmaster countered with a shrug.

“I don’t quite recall that man. Who is he?” Osmond seemed to be weighing his words for a bit. The duchess couldn’t help but look on in concern. Whoever he was, his skills must have been extraordinary to traverse from Tristain to Gallia to and fro overnight, extract her from the villa and return safely.

“A person from another world. He was summoned here by Miss Louise de la Vallière, one of our students. I suppose that makes her another person to thank.” The duchess did hear of that family, a cadet branch of the Royal Family, not unlike her own family was a cadet branch of House Martel, and of Duchess de la Vallière’s exploits as Tristain’s finest. Still, a “person from another world” was not something she expected to hear.

“Is that a common occurrence?”

“Not quite. We’re investigating this the entire time, rest assured. For now however...” The headmaster’s brows furrowed. “We need to discuss the matter of your stance now that you are clear of mind.” Tabitha tensed a little. The duchess offered a reassuring gentle touch of her hand. “I see two options: we can play dumb and have you remain hidden from the public eye, or you can come clean and ask for a status of a political refugee with Princess Henrietta.”

“Joseph is as shrewd a politician as he is ruthless.” Jeanne looked outside the window, overlooking the Vestri Court. The students were enjoying their breakfast in the open, chatting and socializing. “I fear that your daring rescue may bring trouble to Tristain.”

“D-don’t say that, Mother!” Tabitha protested, shaking her head vigorously. Osmond couldn’t help but feel amused: seeing her emote so vividly was a far cry from every other time he saw her around, even when teased and prodded by Miss Zerbst. “We couldn’t, I couldn’t leave you there a-and...”

“I know.” The duchess smiled kindly, gently hugging her daughter. “I cannot thank you enough, but… should Gallia march on Tristania” Here she looked over to Osmond with a frown. “I cannot see you winning. Either of the options you proposed culminates in war. Either Joseph claims that I have been abducted or that I am a scaremonger trying to worsen the relations between our countries, demanding that I am returned to Versailles to be trailed for treason. Failure to comply is a _casus belli_ in the making.”

“Normally this wouldn’t be a concern, but with Albion tied down by the Reconquista, the only ally we’d have would be Germania.” The headmaster nodded. “But if Albrecht III marches into our plucky little country, I can’t see him wanting to leave either. Romalia remains neutral in political disputes, which leaves us to fend for ourselves.”

“How is Tristain’s military?”

“Symbolic more than anything else, especially against the Gallian force.” Osmond admitted with a mirthless chuckle. “We’ve a number advantage when it comes to mages, but all other numbers aren’t in our favor. So, let me ask you this, Jeanne. What are the odds Joseph will pursue you at all?” The duchess raised an eyebrow in surprise.

“What do you mean?”

“The few times I met him, he always seemed like the type to lose interest quickly in just about anything. He’d proclaim his love for Bordeaux wine one day and then dismiss it with disinterest the day after, for one.”

“I d-don’t think my mother is a wine...” Tabitha interjected quietly, more to herself than to anyone else. The two adults chuckled.

“I wouldn’t dare say anything like that. The idea remains, however.”

“It’s not without merit, Osmond, but I think Tabitha has the right of it. Without me, Joseph loses not just my person, but my daughter’s services at once.” The headmaster nodded. “Let me think on this. They will likely take a few days at least to ascertain that I was taken to Tristain. I shall have an answer for you by then.”

“Very well. I trust your judgment. Now then, please excuse me, I need to sign all these papers Miss Loungeville left me...” The duchess smiled, looking briefly at the stack of documents on the headmaster’s desk.

\----

Louise’s condition was deemed good enough to be allowed to leave and participate in the classes.

Miss Chevreuse’s class went about as expected – a big explosion, lots of dust, jeers from her peers – but oddly to the onlookers, the pinkette didn’t seem too distracted by them. Indeed, she even smiled and bantered lightly with some over the nickname of Zero. The fact that neither Zerbst nor Montmorency – the usual suspects in teasing her – had nothing to say the entire class and, in fact, seemed awfully supportive of her, had given birth to a number of theories. Miss Chevreuse too appeared less annoyed with Louise’s antics.

Something was in the air and gossipers were alight with curiosity, but the pinkette wasn’t much bothered by it. “Ah, but where did your werewolf familiar go to?” Kirche asked. The two of them were enjoying a light lunch at Vestri Court. Louise’s face turned sour.

“Don’t call that mongrel my familiar.” She said with a tone of absolute certainty. “He’s a monster. I don’t want anything to do with him.”

“Are you still thinking of that dream?” After a moment of hesitation, the pinkette nodded. “Oh, you poor thing. Surely he cannot be that bad. Odds are, we wouldn’t be enjoying this angel cake together if he was half as monstrous as you said.” True, if he was an _ordinary_ elder werewolf, the Ritual site would be caked in blood and guts of hapless students, her own included. He hasn’t harmed a fly since his arrival, but now that she had some insight into his mind, she knew that these people operated on different premises.

Their monstrosity was human and petty, and thus the most monstrous of them all. “I do not like him. I don’t like him and...” Realizing that she didn’t actually have anything more to say about the werewolf, Louise shook her head and switched the topic. “Anyway, what is that maid’s name?”

“Hm? Oh, you mean Siesta. You gave her quite a scare when you started shaking her.” The pinkette blushed, looking a bit too intently on her cake. “She hasn’t put on her pendant the entire day, as far as I saw her.”

“...good. That cross is a symbol of evil. She’s still going to be needing an apology...” Louise sighed, watching Guiche be up to his usual shenanigans with some first-year. One of those days, Monmon would just flog the skin off him. “She probably doesn’t realize what it is.”

“What _is_ it, Louise?”

“I don’t know how, but… the name “Hakenkreuz” is springing to mind.” Kirche frowned. It was Germanian, alright, but she had never heard of such a word being used, not even among the peasantry. “Ah, forget it. Let’s just enjoy the lunch.”

“Yes, enjoying the lunch while you have everyone fooled.” An unfamiliar voice called to the two of them. They turned to see a blonde with luscious long locks and hints of jewelry meant to look dazzling and opulent. Flanked by two other girls, she gave off an air of smug superiority. A typical Noble that adhered to mindless hedonism and own self-fulfillment: Claire Marianne de Mott, runic name The Spotless, the social apex predator of Tristain Academy of Magic.

“Ah, Claire, welcome.” Louise wasn’t surprised to hear Kirche being chummy with a third-year she personally never interacted with. The redhead had a distressing ability to get along with just about everyone, a social butterfly on her own. “To what do we owe this pleasure?”

“Shut it, you Germanian sow!” One of Claire’s sycophants spat out angrily. “How dare you turn coat and get mushy with Zero of all people?”

“Peace, Salome. We aren’t here to antagonize Kirche. I’m sure she’s simply as amused by the Zero’s charade as everyone else is.”

“Look, upperclassman lady, can I help you?” Louise glowered at the blonde. Finding no purchase in that smug countenance, she elected to turn her attention back to her cake. “I am not much for people talking in riddles.”

“I’d love to spell it out for you~ But first, a job well done to have so many people in on this, even Professor Colbert.”

“I don’t follow.”

“Come on now. You summon some vagrant that is decried as an “elder werewolf” of all things” The girls behind Claire giggled snidely. “by the most respected educator in the academy. You have Kirche and Montmorency eating out of your hand overnight, and you even got that Common Cold loser in on this.”

“He’s Windward.”

“Point being, that kind of Écu doesn’t come cheap, if you catch my drift.” Louise’s fork stopped midway to her mouth as she regarded the upperclassman for a moment before deciding to pause her lunch, slowly putting away the cake and raising from her seat. Kirche’s face was painted with concern: that kind of look Louise only took when someone had well and truly angered her.

“ _Excuse me?_ ” And she was using the voice to boot, that caustic snarl dripping with acid. Claire didn’t seem deterred.

“House Vallière is second in wealth only to the Royal Family as far as Tristain is concerned. It would be child’s play for you to spare some of your, ahem, monthly allowances.”

“Who do you think you are?! I am of House Vallière, Tristain’s loyal protectors since times immemorial,and I’ve no need to prove myself to anyone, let alone a daughter of a promiscuous rake of a count!” Claire’s smug mask shattered in an instant. With a snarl of her own, she grabbed Louise by the collar of her shirt.

“You will address my father with proper respect, Zero! I will not have some strawberry-haired harlot slander him just because she outranks him by mere technicality!”

“Or what? You’ll call me a Zero again?” This time it was Louise’s turn to smile smugly, even as the other girl lifted her off the ground. “Go ahead, missy. Do your worst, see where that gets you.”

“C-claire, maybe we should calm down? Everyone’s staring...” Salome, now not so sure of their superior position, chimed in nervously. Indeed, the eyes of all students in the court were on them, together with hushed whispers and spicy gossip.

“Yes. Let’s all calm down.” Kirche threw in her two Écu, twirling her wand in her hand with a frown. “Tut tut, Claire. That’s not how a proper socialite should behave.”

“Don’t patronize me, you barbarian cow!” Louise was, however, dropped inelegantly on the ground as the blonde made a motion with her other hand as if squeezing the life out of someone before retracting it slowly. “...I demand satisfaction from you, Zero. I want your familiar and mine locked in combat in the next five minutes outside Vestri Court. Oh… but wait...” She was back to her smug cool, looking down at the pinkette. “You don’t have one, do you? You tried so hard to convince everyone of your little stunt, you didn’t even “bind” that nobody.”

“I’ve said I don’t have to prove myself to you already.”

“Of course, of course. A Zero, a coward, and a liar. I’m sure mommy duchess is so proud of you.” Louise’s own snarl went back when Kirche pulled her away to avoid actual physical violence. These two seemed to know the other’s weak spots perfectly, without fail. “Let everyone know that you are an embarrassment to nobles everywhere!” Strange. The day was perfectly cloudless today. Where did the huge menacing shadow suddenly come from, Claire wondered?

The realization hit her the moment a heavy gloved hand landed on her shoulder and almost made her return her own lunch from the sheer volume of bestial fear. The alleged werewolf seemed to have appeared without warning or any fanfare, just popping out of thin air as if it was perfectly natural for him. Did he somehow sneak up on her? Surely not, someone would notice such a tall man just strolling into the court! She was just distracted by Zero’s blustering, o-or maybe it was Zerbst who somehow managed to get him in, or…!

“ **Five minutes from now.”** He said simply, letting her shoulder go. She didn’t move immediately, but she didn’t need to: her two sycophants pulled her away from the weird vagrant commoner monster man, terrified out of their own wits. Everyone stared still, this time at the massive man in a greatcoat standing there as if nothing strange happened.

Louise was the first to speak after she was done watching Claire be carted off the court – and deriving some sort of sinful, wicked pleasure from it. “What are you doing here?” The Captain was silent. “I said I don’t want to see a hair of you for a while, didn’t I?” Much to her annoyance, he nodded. How could someone be so emotionless and yet so awfully cheeky at the same time? “Fine, suit yourself. You want to get involved in petty duels, be my guest! I want nothing to do with it! We’re leaving, Zerbst!”

“Wait, Louise, but—“

“We’re _leaving!_ ” The two of them left in a hurry, with the pinkette leading the furious charge out of the court. The Captain watched them go, still as a statue for a time before he looked down at the unfinished angel cake, examining it briefly.

He could probably trust that redhead to keep the pinky out of trouble for now. As for him… he had a duel to contend himself with.

\----

Back in Gallia…

Joseph insisted to see the site of the massacre on his own rather than rely on her report. Sometimes Sheffield just had to wonder if he was being difficult on purpose or if that was just a part of him. Then again, perhaps he was simply looking for the emotional kick he’s been looking for all these years. Something to stir his heart for the first time.

So far there was no purchase for that.

Three of the four guards, including Captain D’artagnan, were brutalized by the assailant. Sheffield examined each of the corpses with clinical detail, searching for anything that could tell her more about their mysterious enemy. She had already seen the footage through D’artagnan’s enchanted eyes: a tall man in an olive greatcoat, silver hair and blood red eyes, looking more like some sort of night scare than a human being.

Judging by the sheer force these hapless guards were exposed to, it was likely he wasn’t. D’artagnan’s last few acts of defiance seemed to confirm the theory. The late captain was a man who lived long enough in no small thanks due to his cunning and inquisitive nature. Though it sounded strange to onlookers, mere skill with a weapon did not a fine warrior make. Thus, Sheffield paid close attention to what he said and did before expiring. A silver knife, a mere bauble of no combat use, proved effective in harming the assailant. D’artagnan also called him a “mongrel”, the kind of word that he’d likely not use under other circumstances.

“...a werewolf.” Sheffield hummed to herself, idly reaching down the crushed ribcage of the late captain. The organs were a mush and the ribs themselves powdered from the sheer force of blow. There was a couple of supernatural beings of that strength which were weak to silver – but a vampire would not deign themselves to such barbarity and a striga could not possibly move with such grace. Although excessively brutal, the assailant’s movements were quick and compact. Even the backhanded swing was done with an absolute economy of movement.

A werewolf _and_ a soldier. Oh, what a day. Elder werewolf? Not impossible. A normal werewolf might have been spotted by her gargoyle sentries, but none of them registered so much as a murmur during that night. Sheffield entertained herself by idly letting the squashed remains of D’artagnan’s heart slip from one hand to the other as she gathered her thoughts. A short distance away, the remaining guard – Julian, his name was – and Joseph were chatting. Well, more like Joseph was asking questions and the guard was nervously replying to the best of his knowledge.

“How goes the search?” The king asked, nonchalantly stepping over the body of the defaced guard. “Did you ascertain anything?”

“Quite a bit for now.” The identity of the assailant was good to have, but just _who_ sent him there? The obvious answer was Charlotte, but how on earth would she be able to convince an elder werewolf to do her bidding? No, it had to be someone much shrewder and more powerful. “It’s a werewolf.”

“A werewolf?” Joseph whistled, the faked expression of surprise and wonder still managing to catch Sheffield off guard now and then. It sure did catch the hapless surviving guard. “What a doozy.”

“Quite, isn’t it? And it seems like...” Here she presented a single strand of fabric, likely off the werewolf’s greatcoat. “we might have some way of tracking him down.” Hair would be more preferable, but this would do. Tracking someone by their clothing wasn’t Sheffield’s first rodeo on pushing the limits of magic to their absolutes. Joseph nodded.

“Well, that’s good. I can’t imagine what such a beast may want with my sister-in-law...” Joseph scratched his head in thought; a perfectly trained mannerism. “but it’s imperative we recover her.”

“P-please forgive me, Your Highness… I wasn’t strong enough to stop that monster...” Julian whined pitifully, making Sheffield look at him with annoyance. No commoner could match such a monster, and only a few nobles had a shot at it either. “Can I… can I do anything to help?! I can’t think of the terrible things this monster must b-be doing to Her Grace the duchess...” Joseph looked at the guard inquisitively for a moment, then briefly glanced towards her – and Sheffield understood it was _that_ time again.

The time to experiment. “You’ve done more than enough, my good man.” Smiling like a stern, but loving father, Joseph patted the guard on the shoulder. “You’ll be relieved from your post. Get some time off to cool down and spend good moments with your loved ones.” Julian blinked before dropping down to kiss away at Joseph’s ring-adorned hands. The king laughed awkwardly, pulling the reverent subject back up to his feet.

“T-thank you, Your Highness! Your generosity knows no bounds! I am humbled to be your subject!” The bluehaired ruler waved off the praise with a sheepish smile. It was only when Sheffield dug a foot-long dagger through the guard’s back, pushing it all the way through his torso until the tip protruded from the front, that his eyes took a turn for cooler and more analytical. “B-bwuh…?” The guard, for his part, was so elated a moment earlier that this sudden betrayal caught him less grieving and more into active confusion as he slowly looked down his chest. Then, feeling his life leaving him and the vision turning murkier, he grasped weakly at Joseph’s clothes. “W-why… my king...”

The guard coughed up blood, staining the king’s outfit as he slowly and pathetically slid down until his grip left him and he collapsed face-first at his feet, eyes still open and glazed over like those of a fish. Joseph watched him the entire time as himself – a man who could find nothing in his heart, who strove to feel some kind of emotion for once in his life – and came to a conclusion: watching a betrayed subject keel over at his feet did nothing to him.

“Nothing?” Sheffield guessed as much from the slight furrow of Joseph’s brows. The king sighed, and idly wiped away at the blood on his clothes, watching his now stained hand. “We’ll find something. There must be something to stir your heart, my king.”

“What if there isn’t?” What if there wasn’t? Sheffield had no answer to that question, but as his loyal familiar, as his Mjöðvitnir – The Mind of God – she would remain at his side until that answer presented itself.

And if they had to burn this entire land down to the ground, then so be it.

\----

Calling it a duel was something of an overstatement.

To the girl’s credit, she did show up in five minutes, with a menacing gray wolf at her side. This must have been her Familiar then? How amusing. If there was one way of ascertaining dominance in a pack, it would be through a show of force. Wolves and werewolves operated on similar basis sometimes. “I applaud your courage. At least you made it here unlike some Zeros.” Claire was back to her smug self, stroking the fur of the wolf. “Meet Razor. He shall be your opponent.”

The Captain slowly rose from his seat at the steps, looking down at the familiar. The wolf seemed to understand immediately what it was dealing with, but likely put on a brave face to keep its Master happy. Without a word, the werewolf made his way towards the clearing, taking note of the gathering of students already surrounding it, eager to see some excitement. He caught sight of three familiar faces: the blonde children from the ritual site: the heartthrob, his girlfriend, and his fat friend.

...now that he thought about it, that wound from last night hadn’t mended itself yet. He took a moment to look down at the small red notch on his palm. The body struck with silver was putting itself together, but it would take time to recover fully. “Now then, the rules are simple enough: you shall fight until one of you can fight no more.” Claire said, content to stand a comfortable distance away from the proceedings. The Captain nodded; the terms were agreeable, if a bit general. After all, ripping that wolf in two would count as making it unable to fight.

Fortunately for Razor, its opponent had no intention of going that far. In fact… “Well then… begin!” Its master gave the signal. Any other fight, the wolf would leap right at the enemy, but this one not only smelled familiar, he smelled of danger. Thus, the familiar approached with caution. The Captain made no move at all, just watching Razor approach with those unblinking red eyes. Once he finally did move, the wolf hopped back in alarm, but its opponent didn’t seem to be planning an attack, merely crouching down to be more at the level with the familiar. They stared each other down for a few uncomfortable moments during which Claire bit her lip in anticipation and the onlookers’ gossip grew in volume and intensity.

Then, defying everyone’s expectations, The Captain simply reached out with unharmed hand and beckoned Razor over like he would his favorite dog. The Master of the wolf familiar burst out laughing. “Ha! What kind of tactic is _that_ supposed to be?! Perhaps you want to cry for mercy already, if you think this will work for my ruthless… Razor...” Her voice caught in her throat when the wolf did, in fact, shuffled closer. The werewolf put a gentle hand on a fellow canine being’s head, slowly running his fingers through the thick fur. A mountain wolf, probably.

“...what… what is this?!” Sure enough, Razor’s Master was absolutely furious. “Razor, this is the enemy! I order you to tear him apart!” But the wolf she summoned was, in some ways, smarter than her. It knew very well that the alpha before him – though he looked like a man, the familiar could easily smell a fellow predator – was being courteous. Said alpha was bigger, stronger, and utterly confident; confident enough to even accept this duel with the wound on his other hand. “You stupid dog! Why aren’t you listening to me?!” As Claire raged in the meantime, the gossip around the “duel” turned into jeers and mocking laughter. She looked around, eyes fleeting to and fro as she watched her peers mock her ineptitude. “This isn’t…! He did something to my familiar!”

“Or maybe you just suck!” The little fat twat that uttered those words hid himself quickly enough so that she couldn’t smite him with her glare, but his words were like a switch, only triggering more laughter and insults. Claire stewed in place, biting her lip so hard she drew blood.”

“Not so Spotless after all!”

“Razor should piss on you!”

“Go back to daddy!” The insults piled on. She couldn’t help but feel tears of utter humiliation and grief forming in her eyes, no matter how much she tried blinking them away. If she started crying in front of all these people, she would be ruined forever.

And then the stranger that Zero “summoned” cleared his throat from above Razor, almost absentmindedly, still busy petting her wolf – and the crowd went deathly silent. Claire stared, then looked around as the onlookers began dispersing, suddenly a lot less keen on throwing in their own commentary. Soon the duel site was almost emptied save for a few students who focused more on themselves than the situation nearby.

The Captain let the fellow canine go with one last pet, watching it rejoin its Master. Claire stared at the man who not just humiliated her in front of everyone, but also saved her from a breaking point of humiliation, all in a span of the same event. Emotions within fought with themselves: the indignation, the thankful energy, the shards of sadness still lingering about. She watched the man – who might have been an elder werewolf slowly stand up, give her and Razor a nod and then leave as if nothing just happened, his silhouette impressive in size even as the distance increased.

Claire looked down at her familiar gently nuzzling her leg in an attempt to comfort her. “...I’m sorry for calling you stupid.” She said quietly, petting her wolf not unlike the man from a moment ago did. Razor, for its part, was quite content to just let her do as she liked, its tail wagging happily at the familiar touch.


	4. Die Realpolitik

“What seems to be the problem, Miss Vallière?”

Louise requested a meeting concerning her soon-to-be Familiar, a meeting with only the Headmaster. Osmond, understanding that a prospect of binding an elder werewolf was a daunting one, humored her – and quite understandably, the young duchess wanted nothing to do with him.

“I will not bind that man.” She stated with absolute certainty. “If there is no obligation for me to do so, then I will not associate myself for life with a villain and a scoundrel.” For all of her faults, Louise was a highly moral person, as far as nobles went. That, as it turned out over years, proved to be more of a vice than a virtue. Osmond did not immediately respond, taking his time to add another portion of tobacco to his pipe.

“Miss Vallière, Professor Puidemont notified me that you were a victim of a particularly vivid nightmare.” The pinkette made a face and shrunk a little in her seat. Even recalling the notion seemed to still have her recoil. “Can I ask you to describe it?”

“...must I…?”

“I insist.” Thus, Louise described everything. The dream in question sounded like something out of fiction. Granted, they’ve already confirmed the werewolf was from another world… but to think that there was a realm were people were rounded up and killed by horrific gaseous machinations… some would probably consider this a fitting fate for captive Elves, Osmond reasoned, but at the same time, was it not a waste of resources to arrange such an elaborate mechanism…?

“Do you not see anything peculiar with that dream, Miss Vallière?” Louise raised an eyebrow, trying to decipher if the Headmaster’s question wasn’t a trick one. The whole thing was peculiar, really. “Or perhaps let me voice it differently: do you not find the idea of having such a dream peculiar?”

“I don’t… follow...” And yet, judging by how her voice hitched for a moment and her eyes slowly widened in some sort of realization, Osmond could only nod to himself in understanding. Perhaps she always understood it, but refused to believe it. They were dealing with unknown magicks – Void was endless and undecipherable in multiple ways.

“Your summoning chant was different from a standard fare.” He explained, idly smoking his pipe. “This, combined with your affinity, made it difficult to predict the overall outcome, and so… I think Founder himself saw fit to bind you.”

Louise did not respond, staring at the Headmaster as if he was some kind of unknown higher being. “There is no other logical explanation, really. Whether by a freak accident or divine providence, you were bound the moment you summoned this man into our world.”

“This is outrageous.” Though her tone was even, her quivering lip and barely hidden shake of her body made it obvious Louise was absolutely incensed. “Are you saying I will have to spend my entire life with this monster?”

“Till death do you part.” The pinkette stared at the Headmaster. “I understand your apprehension, but think of it that way: being a Void Mage is a dangerous existence. You have to keep in mind that there will be adversity waiting for you and your family.”

“Adversity?! Do you know what will happen once my Mother finds out about all this?!” Heedless of the stunning breach of conduct – Osmond saw fit not to reprimand the girl; the revelations at hand were big enough to warrant some leeway of good manners – the Headmaster let her continue. “She will rip that thing apart, and then me for being a threat to good peoples!”

“Oh?” The old wizard’s eyebrow quirked in amusement. “You would consider yourself such?”

“What else can I be if I’m a Master of such a dangerous beast?!” A moment of silence.

“Miss Vallière, I do my best to examine all students that come to this academy and see if they are worthy of the noblehood they were born with. We come unto this world wielding extraordinary power that commoners do not. To be responsible with it is not something many of us do.” Louise nodded. Far too many times did she see her peers or even outside nobles treat the academy’s servants with utter contempt, like gnats. She wasn’t perfect – she nearly throttled Siesta last night, after all – but she did her best to live up to this responsibility. Or, perhaps, her being a magical late bloomer made her more sensitive to commoners’ plights…?

“Even in spite of your flaws, you are an upstanding young woman, and I do not doubt that you would lead by example in what a Noble should be, magic or no magic.” Osmond nodded resolutely. “And so, I trust you not to become a threat you believe yourself to be.”

\----

The Captain was generally given a wide berth.

After the “duel” with the wolf familiar, most students and familiars both steered clear away from him. It was an amusing sight, to watch the entire corridor just part before him, like the Red Sea before the fleeing Israelites. The ordinary staff also seemed to try and not be in his vicinity, but theirs seemed to be different reasons for doing so. After all, The Captain was nothing if not an intimidating figure. The only ones who seemed at alert were various educators he met on his idle walks, giving him warning looks. One on one, none of them had a prayer, but there was no need for the werewolf to stir trouble. He was trying to remain careful, after all.

Not everyone was so careful however. He felt a slight bump and a startled gasp, followed by the clatter of items on the floor. Looking down, he set his eyes upon a black-haired maid, still a little dizzy from the impact. She must have been going from behind the corner, and the positively staggering amount of packs and bowls she carried, now scattered all over the corridor, made it difficult to see anything in front of her.

“I’m terribly sorry, mi...lord...” The maid’s voice stopped in her throat when she realized who she bumped into. The Captain was still for a moment before reaching down. Siesta shrieked and pulled out a peculiar symbol from under her outfit. She would have normally worn it on her chest, but the situation with Miss Vallière – and her adamant belief that the broken cross was a symbol of evil – had her reconsider. Now, with this man bearing down on her, no doubt to punish her for her insolence, she wasn’t thinking straight and presented it in self-defense, as if to chase away an evil spirit.

The Captain, having reached down for one of the packs and having identified it as food for the Familiars only took notice of the swastika as he straightened up. A moment of pregnant silence persisted between them. Siesta, if nothing else, made him blink in surprise. Slowly, he reached for the pendant with a healthy hand. The maid’s breath stopped as she felt herself being pulled a little forward by the amulet.

“ **Where did you get this?”** Oh Brimir dear, even his voice was monstrous; so deep and so gravelly that it could not belong to a man.

“T-this… this is my… I… my grandfather’s...” Hm. So between him and the soldier that saved Old Osmond, there seemed to have been more arrivals from their world – and all of them carried insignia of the Reich. The Captain let go of the pendant and straightened back up. Siesta had to crane her neck really high to look this man in the eye. “I’m t-terribly sorry, milord! I didn’t see where I was g-going, a-and...”

He stayed her explanations with a simple gesture, then patted the bag with Familiar chow. Siesta blinked, trying to make sense of what he tried to say. It was only when the man picked up a few more bags that she caught on. “Oh no, I c-cannot possibly ask you for help—“

“ **It’s fine.** ” Well, hard to argue with a voice like that. Siesta swallowed nervously and nodded, getting to picking up stuff herself. The two of them resumed on their merry way, undisturbed by anyone. At least no one was willing to approach the man – and her by proxy – so it made it easier to navigate the Academy grounds. The big Familiars were all gathered for dinner – too sizable to live in student quarters and thus fed here by the staff – but at the sight of the man, most of them were less than pleased.

“Oh… oh dear… they’re not normally like this.” Indeed, most of the magical beasts gathered there – with a curious exception of Miss Tabitha’s dragon – seemed to regard the man with suspicion and apprehension. The Captain could very well understand that sentiment, but it was a mystery to Siesta. “They might seem very s-scary, but most of them are really well-behaved, actually...”

The werewolf remained silent, opting to simply put his load of the Familiar chow nearby. He remained close by even as Siesta got to the arduous task of feeding all the big beasts. The dragon – Sylpheed, he recalled – sidled up to him inch by inch, offering a quiet “kyuu” of greeting and a nod. He nodded back, staring at the creature with the same impassive look.

It offered its head for pets. The werewolf stared at the blue lizard before heeding its request, absentmindedly thinking of Siesta’s pendant. After the dream that his unlikely Master recounted at the infirmary, it was no wonder that she would regard the swastika with apprehension. The maid thus must have been the servant he’s heard was mistreated last night.

“Pardon me asking, m-milord...” Siesta gathered enough courage to speak out. “H-how come you and Miss Tabitha’s familiar are s-such good friends?” He wouldn’t perhaps go that far, but Sylpheed had understandable reasons to be fond of him. He had nothing bad to say of the dragon himself. That being said, he didn’t really have anything to say on that front, merely shrugging as if he too pondered on that conundrum. Siesta’s shoulders sagged in disappointment.

She was finished feeding the familiars by the time the class ended and students poured out of classrooms. Some of them went right to their familiars, only to stop and approach much more cautiously in light of The Captain’s presence. The one student that did not hesitate in approaching was Tabitha, a book in one hand and her staff in the other. The werewolf nodded hello.

“Are you free?”...was he free? As far as he knew, Louise still didn’t want to see him, so… “I wanted to introduce you to someone.” Here Tabitha cast Siesta a vaguely disapproving look. The maid, having been eavesdropping a little bit, apologized sheepishly and made herself scarce, her duty done. The Captain looked down at the small bluenette before nodding. He had an idea of who this “someone” was going to be.

He wondered if this was a good choice of action to begin with.

\----

Kirche was being unusually peppy, Louise noticed.

Though the pinkette’s exhibition spell failed yet again, she wasn’t particularly concerned with the matter. Frankly, now that she knew of her real affinity, what was the point of trying? At least she could derive some satisfaction from her peers, unused to and incensed at how calm she was taking her failures now. It got to a point that Miss Chevreuse pulled her back into class after the bell to tell her to at least try and pretend everything is as it was, just to be on the safe side.

As for Kirche, she was like this ever her talk with Tabitha about an hour or so earlier. Now all this peppiness was coming her way, apparently inviting her to meet someone important. Now that there was no enmity between them, Louise was just about willing to entertain the notion. What else was there for her in this Academy? At least she could still study the theory and ace it like she did before…

After getting herself organized and adjusting her hair a little, she was ready to meet this mystery person Kirche advertised so hotly, in one of the rooms in the abandoned wing of the Academy. Who would it be? Some dashing boy to flirt with? An underclassman that was Louise’s fan, somehow? Well, whatever. It didn’t matter. Even with the Headmaster’s reassurance that she wasn’t a threat to anyone, she could already hear the ominous black horses of the witch hunters clicking on the roads…

“Ah, Louise! So glad you could join us!” It was Kirche who opened the door, her hair done in a long ponytail. “Come in, come in.”

“The ponytail suits you.” She said before thinking, only to turn as red as the Germanian’s hair when Kirche’s lips crooked in a teasing smile. “Y-yeah, well, I won’t ever compliment you then!”

“It’s fine, it’s fine.” Much to Louise’s surprise, the abandoned quarters at the abandoned wing didn’t seem all that abandoned. Though the furnishings were austere and minimal, there was no sign of cobwebs and dust bunnies scurrying all over the floor. Someone was living here. “I’m just happy to have you. Just promise me not to make a scene.”

“...Zerbst, why would I ever make a sce-” Oh, the werewolf was here too. Having turned the corner with Kirche, Louise stared at this giant of a man briefly meeting her thunderous glare before looking back down to his tea, the collar of his greatcoat partially undone and his cap on his lap. The coffee table was manned by not just him and Tabitha – looking unusually chipper herself; this was probably the first time Louise saw her smiling so earnestly – and a woman about her mother’s age, with the same vibrant shade of blue as her Gallian friend.

“You must be Louise de La Vallière.” The woman greeted her with a warm smile. “I’m pleased to meet you. Please, have a seat.”

The pinkette had yet to understand that “not making a scene” would be much tougher than expected.

\----

A few hours had passed, spent in most unusual company. The sun had just begun to set down.

To wit: the woman before her wasn’t just Tabitha’s mother, she was a Gallian duchess. That, obviously, made Tabitha herself – or rather, Charlotte – her social peer. Somehow, that revelation was not the most audacious of them all. It turned out that Old Osmond made use of the werewolf she summoned to extract the duchess – suffering from mind-shattering poison at the time – from the royal villa in Gallia and bring her here to undo the evil curse put upon her by the wine meant for Charlotte herself, given by the current ruler of Gallia… who was Charlotte’s uncle, to make things even worse.

In one fell swoop, Louise was introduced to the political drama of Gallia and became its integral part – all thanks to that stupid fleabag, currently still as a statue over his cup of tea. “Naturally, I will have to ask you that you keep this story to yourself, Miss Vallière.” Duchess d'Orléans concluded the recount with a nod. Near Louise, Kirche was sitting, face like stone. She seemed to have known more than the pinkette, but not all of it.

“O-of course. Your secrets are mine to keep, Your Grace.”

“Please, you needn’t be so formal with me. Charlotte’s friends are my friends as well.” This sounded like a perfect occasion for Kirche to cut into the conversation, but no, she remained stone-faced still. Honestly, she seemed to be taking this far worse than Louise was.

“I-if you say so… though, if I may be so blunt, I don’t think I deserve any thanks for your rescue.” The pinkette glowered towards the werewolf, but her earlier ferocity was gone – frankly, she was just tired now. “Headmaster did not notify me of this, and I did not consider this man a Familiar at the time.”

“Is that right?” Charlotte couldn’t help but look towards the pinkette with worry. She was awfully adamant at rejecting the man she summoned over what seemed to be a night scare. Or was it?

“Today however, the Headmaster explained to me that due to the unique circumstances behind the summoning, we might have been tied together without our knowledge or input.” This got The Captain to look up from his tea, regarding Louise with an unreadable expression. “Either way, whatever praise you would like to offer, Your Grace, please direct it to that man and the Headmaster.”

“Well, it would be untoward to not praise you.” The duchess shook her head. “It was thanks to your summoning that all of this was made possible in the first place.” The pinkette stared at the older woman for a bit before looking down at her tea. That wasn’t false. Whatever divine machinations were at play, they deemed her the most compatible with a deplorable war criminal from another world.

Some food for thought.

“Louise…” Charlotte spoke up softly, offering a reassuring touch. “It’ll be okay. I know it will be.”

“...sorry, I… well, for starters, I’m not used to you being so animated...” Now that the pinkette thought about it, Zerbst was _still_ silent. “Neither is Kirche, seems.”

“Oh no, I’m fine. I’m just...” The redhead’s face remained expressionless. “ _absolutely livi_ _d_ about this situation. All manners of regicide are bouncing around in my head, and I’m frankly a little aghast at myself for entertaining such barbarism.” There was a joke to be made about Germanians calling out barbaric things, but not even Louise was audacious enough to try it (they were friends now, anyway). This was the first time she saw an angry Kirche. Not an annoyed or peeved Kirche – this was a furious Germanian noble with a mastery over fire, like a blazing furnace about to explode.

“I understand your anger well, Miss Zerbst.” The duchess’s expression turned thoughtful. “At the time however, there is nothing else that can be done. Word of mouth does not a convincing proof make. Even if so, his is the royal providence and the esteemed heritage of Brimir’s student.”

“Such humbug.” Still, that seemed to get some of Kirche’s anger dispersed as she opted to simply bring Charlotte closer for a one-armed hug. “To think a man could be so heartless...” Then she brought Louise in with her other arm for a good measure, much to the pinkette’s embarrassed sputter. “I apologize for my outburst.”

“Nothing for it.”

\----

“Familiar… Brimir’s balls, that feels weird to say to you of all people.”

After the meeting with the duchess, Louise requested that The Captain makes his appearance in her room. Apparently, his unlikely Master wanted to have an earnest conversation. She seemed to be having some second thoughts about that, but now that his presence was contrasting with the delicate furnishing of her quarters, there was nothing else to be done but to grit her teeth and be done with whatever she wanted to be done with.

“My mind says that I should have you whipped for such audacious actions.” This was an empty threat, and both of them knew as much. Even with his complete compliance – which he would probably give out without a second thought, she realized, and the notion greatly annoyed her – she would just break the crop over his head for no effect, good or ill. “Even if I did not acknowledge you as my Familiar at the time, to just go and stir political unrest with Gallia is absolutely unacceptable. I’m sure you realize that having a king of any nation for an enemy is no joke.”

He nodded, but didn’t say a word. “...which is why I’m happy to listen to my heart instead and say that you did a good job.” Her features softened slightly. That seemed to take him off guard, even if it was only as much as a blink. Louise chuckled quietly. “So I can get some emotion out of you after all. Look, I will not pretend that I am happy to have you as a Familiar, but if this is the hand the Founder dealt me, then what am I to do but to accept it?”

“Even if you are some kind of deplorable war criminal, a scum of the earth, and an affront of nature – you are _my_ affront of nature. If you think of atoning for your past, making amends… then you will be given that right. A headstart made by giving Tabitha her mother back is well-appreciated.” Silence. Well, he was nothing if not a good listener, but Louise still couldn’t help but feel a tinge of annoyance grow within. Don’t let him get to you, she thought.

It was a skillful kind of man that could get to someone without even doing anything. “Tomorrow is the Void Day. You are to accompany me as both a Familiar and a bodyguard. Obviously your talents, extraordinary as they might be, are not what the usual Familiar would do for their Master, so I will take pleasure in outfitting you in something more befitting of your station.”

The Captain’s eyebrow rose ever so slightly. “A blade for presentation. I can’t have you fight threats with your bare hands. What would the world think?” It rose slightly higher. “Of course, that is merely for show. I understand you would rather not make a clown of yourself if you can help it.” The eyebrow went back down. “...so, that’s that. Whatever happens, we are in this together.”

This wasn’t necessarily true, and the werewolf recognized that both of them knew that. There was no magic actually tethering him to her will and commands. If he liked, he could have cut and run, and she would be powerless to stop him. The entire Academy would.

But that was not how one soothed an aching spirit of the past. He wanted for them to be in this together – or preferably without endangering her. Whatever higher being saw fit to redeem him, it obviously was not satisfied with mere death. Less of a redemption and more of an assisted suicide; even the Draculina and her familiar recognized that.

The Captain himself thought it would be enough, but there was no rest for the wicked. “Now then… I bid you goodnight.” Louise nodded, satisfied with her little speech. “I wish to see you at eight in the morning in Vestri Court. Then, we can set out.”

\----

Jean-Jacques Francis, the Viscount of Wardes, was not at all pleased with the recent events.

It began when that miserable thief all but walked out of her part of the deal to secure the Staff of Destruction. Yes, it turned out that the famed weapon of another world was useless, but Fouquet declined to try and steal anything else from the Academy. Apparently her fear of the strange man in a greatcoat – the so-called elder werewolf, and Louise’s familiar – was big enough to call their bluff regarding the orphanage. This time the thief had the right of it: the Reconquista could not afford to police every single person in Albion, busy fighting off the royalists. Spending resources just to ensure a single Mage’s loyalty, no matter how strong they were, was unattainable.

Of course, that put Wardes himself in a precarious position. If, by some shadow of chance, Louise’s familiar really _was_ an elder werewolf, that made a goal of abducting her – since everything pointed to her being the Void Mage they were looking for – that much more difficult. The viscount had plans for the future, and becoming a stress ball for a mangy mongrel was among the last of them. He’d already have The Heavy Wind breathing down his neck; that was enough excitement.

Incredible how a presence of a single person could derail plans so badly. There was nothing else to do but to try and play the long game. Henrietta would no doubt send him to Albion sooner or later, and he could try putting some plans into motion there. For now, all he had to do was to play the part of a caring betrothed. The morning of the Void Day was fresh and biting, perfect for a morning flight. Odds were he would find Louise planning to head to Tristania, and with her the supernatural bodyguard she acquired.

And then… perhaps he would simply wing it.


End file.
